Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1) (12 page)

With rose-colored cheeks, I followed him in the other direction. I didn’t have time to admire the car today. Elyas already had the motor running before I buckled up. God, how I loved that sound, more and more each time I heard it.

Elyas stepped on it, as I’d come to expect, so my worries about making it on time were instantly swept away.

That is, until we encountered red lights every hundred yards the entire way.

“Sorry,” Elyas apologized at one of them, dropping his hands into his lap as I tried to use the power of my brain to turn the light green—to no avail.

“I think, this once, not even
you
can do anything about it,” I told him.

“How gracious,” he said with a sarcastic smile.

I gave up hoping I would still make it on time, so I leaned back and watched the city go by. It occurred to me that this would be the perfect opportunity to squeeze in some research.

“Say,” I began, as though I were about to inquire about the weather, “what kind of a guy is that Sebastian?”

Elyas looked at me for a second. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” I said, shrugging. “He just seems nice, so naturally I was wondering how that could be if he’s a friend of yours.”

He flashed me a fake smile before his skepticism returned. “Yeah, he’s nice.”

“Could you be a little more specific?”

“What do you want to know?” He wrinkled his forehead.

“Everything, I guess,” I said. “For instance, I’d be interested in knowing whether, like you, his main interest is disseminating his sperm throughout the world. Or whether he actually takes women seriously—though I’m sure you wouldn’t understand what I mean by that.” Elyas gave me an inscrutable look before the light turned green and he drove forward.

“Do you like him?”

I smiled. “Would that be a problem?”

“Not for me,” he said, smiling back, “but I think Alex might consider stabbing you in the back with a knife if you did.”

Goddammit, I didn’t expect her name to come up. How did he know about all that? I decided to play dumb.

“Why would she do that?”

“Well,” he sighed. “Maybe because she practically bounds into his arms every time he says hi.”

If Elyas already knew about Alex’s crush, he must not have anything against it.

“Hmm,” I mumbled. “This complicates matters tremendously.”

“Oh, come on. Like she didn’t tell you about it weeks ago. Women—and Alex in particular—constantly go on and on about stuff like that.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Voice of experience,” he said, grinning, apparently feeling like an expert on women. I rolled my eyes.

“You’re asking me all this because Alex wanted you to pump me for information, right?”

“No,” I said. “Honestly, I’m worried about her. She is so naïve about men. And even though Sebastian makes a good impression, I don’t like that he’s a friend of yours.”

Elyas snorted and briefly looked my way. Apparently he thought I had been joking, and now wanted to see if I was serious. Lo and behold, the tacit answer in my eyes told him: dead serious!

“
That’s
your problem?” he said.

I nodded.

“But mean old Elyas is being pretty nice to you right now, isn’t he?”

“Just because it’s been more than five minutes since your last smart-ass comment doesn’t mean you’re anywhere near ‘nice,’” I said. He smiled in his usual smug way and looked ahead again. I steeled myself for a typical stupid response, but none materialized. Instead, he didn’t say anything for a while. Then he came back to our original topic.

“As far as Sebastian goes, you can relax. He’s a nice guy and, no, his main interest is not disseminating his sperm throughout the world. Satisfied?”

I shrugged and wondered whether I should take Elyas’s assessment at face value. We were talking about his sister, though, so I decided he must be on the up and up.

We didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive, and when we made it to campus at ten minutes after one, I put my hand on the door handle.

“Jesus Christ, just wait a second!” he said, holding me back. “Why are you always in such a rush to get away from me?”

“I think you know the answer to that. Plus, my lecture started ten minutes ago, and I hate having everyone stare at me when I come in late, as though I’m about to sing a solo or something.”

“Well, you’re going to have to walk in late today no matter what, so one more minute isn’t going to change that.”

I sighed, settled back into the seat, and wondered why in the hell I was staying in the car. “Whatever you want, make it quick, then.”

He hesitated as though he had to carefully pick the right words. “What are you doing tonight?” he finally asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What are you doing tonight?” he repeated.

Was Elyas asking me out?

“Working,” I said curtly.

“And tomorrow?”

“All right, what’s going on?”

“I’d just like to talk, is all. Nothing more than that,” he explained. If I hadn’t heard those words come out of Elyas Schwarz’s mouth, I don’t think I would have believed he said them.

“I think we see each other plenty as it is,” I replied, opening the car door. After I got out, I turned back to him. “I’m sorry; it’s been lovely, but I really need to go now. Thanks for the lift.” With those words, I closed the door and rushed toward the lecture hall.

I’d just like to talk, is all. Nothing more.
I snorted. What an idiot.

Shaking my head as I ran, I reached the lecture hall several minutes later, fully out of breath. Of course everyone turned to look at me when I opened the door, and I looked at the floor as I made my way down the aisle in search of a free seat. Once I found one, I slid down as low as possible and didn’t muster the courage to sit up straight until everyone’s attention had returned to the professor, who stood in front on a small stage, discussing poststructuralism—a framework developed in the 1960s for interpreting literature. It turned out to be as complex as it sounded.

I had two more lectures later, so I headed to the library to study for half an hour.

After the third lecture, pretty much exhausted, I made my way back to my room. My wish that there would be a new e-mail from Luca went unfulfilled, so I used the time left before work to take a shower. I enjoyed the relaxation of standing under the hot water. Then I put on my work clothes. Although I should have left for work ages sooner, I couldn’t resist checking my e-mail one more time before going. I was disappointed again and spent my whole walk to work telling myself it didn’t mean anything. Luca undoubtedly had other things to do than sit in front of his computer all day answering e-mails from me. Still, it rankled me. I hadn’t heard from him since last night—a long time for Luca. And I was irritated that I was rankled at all. I was acting like a teenager. Worse, actually! So I pushed the whole topic from my head before I walked through the doors of Purple Haze.

The cocktail bar where I worked was located in a hip area near downtown Berlin, in the basement of a corner building. Over time, the place had become a second home to me. Inside, there were several large fans hanging from the ceilings; the chairs and tables were simple in design and made of dark wood. The bar counter, which was one of my work areas, was the same dark wood and was one of the longest ones I’d ever seen. Behind it were ceiling-high shelves filled with every imaginable type of alcohol. In one corner of the space was a single pool table, which no one was using at the moment. Since it was midweek, there was hardly anyone inside, except small groups of teenagers occupying a couple of tables.

We didn’t have uniforms, so I just tied a long black apron around my waist before saying hi to Eva’s boyfriend, Nicolas, and getting to work. Nicolas was the manager, and he’d gotten me this job by putting in a word for me with his boss. Nicolas was super-tall and lanky, with dark hair. Since I knew all about the physical demands of his lifestyle with Eva, I didn’t wonder about his lankiness anymore.

I handled table service and the floor while Nicolas managed the kitchen and bar. Purple Haze focused mainly on cocktails, but the menu included some light food items—appetizers, salads, and baguette sandwiches—and someone needed to make them. Tonight that was Nicolas. Since it was a slow night, I had no trouble running the show out front by myself. The downside was that the hours dragged. The usual work was quickly done, so I mainly stood around idly or chatted with Nicolas, who paid me a visit now and again from the kitchen or behind the bar. I even entertained the thought of calling Alex and asking if she would come down to keep me company. I decided against that because hanging out with Alex once a day was plenty.

By ten o’clock my feet really hurt as I stood behind the counter washing beer glasses. Nicolas had disappeared for the umpteenth time back into the kitchen, and the Latin American rhythms of the Orishas were playing from the speakers. I had kept Elyas’s and my conversation out of my head most of the night, but now my thoughts returned to Luca. I wondered if he had e-mailed back during my shift. God, I was so pathetic!

“Hey dearest.”

The all-too-familiar voice startled me, and when I looked up, I groaned. “Are you aware of the recently tightened antistalking law?”

“Sorry? Don’t I get a hello kiss?” Elyas said, laughing, as he sat opposite me on a barstool.

“What are you doing here?”

“I happened to be in the area and my sixth sense suddenly told me to go through that door,” he said, pointing to the entrance. He seemed extraordinarily pleased about this purely coincidental meeting.

“Your sixth sense?” I snorted. “I’m thinking it was actually your third leg.”

He laughed, and I wondered how the hell he knew where I worked.
Alex
—that monster, my best and soon-to-be-dead friend.

“What do you want, Elyas?” I said impatiently. “I’m working.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, taking a look at the drink menu. “How about a Coke? I have to drive.”

God, I wanted to wring his neck. There had to be
some
way to shake him off.

“If I give you a Coke, will you get out of here then?”

“Maybe.”

“What does ‘maybe’ mean?”

He grinned. “‘Maybe’ means I’m staying until I’ve finished my glass. On the other hand, if you don’t serve me anything, I’ll stay until your shift is over.”

“Is there a third option?” I frowned. He shook his head, beaming like the Cheshire cat. I muttered, “Fine” and filled a glass, which I slammed onto the bar in front of him.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. I returned to my dishwashing, which, with my new company, suddenly seemed twice as much fun as before. I grumbled.

“This is a nice place,” he said, looking around. “I like the music, too.”

“Good for you.”

“The only downside is that the work itself isn’t ideal: Isn’t it bad for your fingers to be plunging them in and out of dirty dish water?”

“Unlike
you
,” I started, “I’m not being supported by my father. I have to earn my own money.”

“My dad isn’t supporting me.”

“If not Ingo, then who? You’re either on the go or on campus. I’ve never heard anything about your having to get to
work
.”

“That’s true, I don’t
go
to work,” he said smiling. “I work at home.”

“At home?” I repeated. “What, do you work for a gay chat line or something?” I was trying to provoke him, but he found my comment funny. Great. I guess I couldn’t accuse him of being homophobic, either. Most guys wouldn’t have reacted as self-confidently as he did. Bu
t . . .
maybe he was gay? Hmm, interesting theory, which I didn’t have a chance to pursue any further because he interrupted my musings.

“To the first part—yes. To the second part—no. Although I’m certain that would be a highly lucrative job.” He grinned.

“What do you allegedly do instead?”

He leaned forward. “As you know, I play the piano. I’m even pretty good at it. I compose a lot, and write jingles for ads and radio stations and things like that. Sometimes longer pieces, which I sell to movie or TV production companies. Lately I’ve been living off the shorter stuff.”

I raised an eyebrow and took a closer look at him. After a thorough search, I found no sign he was pulling my leg.

“Really?” I asked.

He nodded. “It’s the truth. I’m not some famous concert pianist, but I’m good enough that I’ve been living off my music for a year.”

I looked at him, absorbing this new, unexpected revelation. It was hard to get my brain around.

“Would I recognize anything you’ve done? Like the Deutsche Telekom tune or something?”

He smiled and leaned back. “How about the soundtrack to
Pirates of the Caribbean
?”

My eyes bugged out. I loved that movie. He couldn’t have written one of the tunes from it, could he?
Doo-doo dah dah, doo-doo dah dah, doo-doo dah dah, doo-doo dah
started echoing through my head.

Elyas burst out laughing. “No, no, that part was a joke.” My face went blank and I started silently cursing myself. How was I always, always getting taken in by him?

“I don’t think people would recognize the stuff I’ve done,” he continued. “You may have heard something in passing, but I doubt you’d remember anything. If you want, I’ll play some of my work for you sometime.”

“We’ll see,” I muttered, returning to my dishwashing.

After a while, a customer motioned that he wanted to pay. I grabbed the waiter’s purse and walked over to him. After that, I returned to rinsing glasses.

I just pretended Elyas wasn’t there. Outwardly pretended, that is, because inwardly I could feel his burning gaze on me. I didn’t understand what he hoped to achieve by sitting there staring at me. Every time we ran into each other, things got worse. Had it ever occurred to him that his games might be extremely unpleasant for me? But that’s probably why he tormented me, just one tiny part of his expansive plot to plague me.

“Are you going to ignore me the whole night?” he asked after neither of us had said anything for a long time.

“Will you
please
drink your soda?” I said, annoyed he had hardly touched it.